


just the boy inside the man

by ellievolia



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Babysitting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievolia/pseuds/ellievolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison gives birth on a Tuesday mid-September. Mike’s by her side, brushing sweaty hair off her brow as she crushes his hand with hers, and it’s raining. Jack is 19.2 inches and weighs 7.3 pounds; two hands, two feet, ten fingers and ten toes, the tiniest nose Mike has ever seen, and humongous lungs. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jack’s a month old when Mike moves in with Tom in DC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just the boy inside the man

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks go to Klara for beta-ing this! Any remaining mistake is mine, feel free to let me know if you see anything. If you have any concrit you want to give me, go ahead, and if you want to do it privately, my email is ellievolia at gmail dot com. You can also find me at cakelessness dot tumblr dot com.

Allison gives birth on a Tuesday mid-September. Mike’s by her side, brushing sweaty hair off her brow as she crushes his hand with hers, and it’s raining. 

Jack is 19.2 inches and weighs 7.3 pounds; two hands, two feet, ten fingers and ten toes, the tiniest nose Mike has ever seen, and humongous lungs. He cries for what feels like hours, and then he falls asleep, first in Allison’s arms and then in Mike’s, when she’s too exhausted to hold Jack’s head anymore. 

Later, when Jack is sleeping in his cot, Mike takes a picture of his scrunched up, red face, and sends it to his parents and Taylor and Tom and Liam and Steve and Nate. And then he makes the picture his phone background.

;;

Jack’s a month old when Mike moves in with Tom in DC. 

;;

It’s not like Mike and Allison really tried to make it work while he was in Hershey, but the opportunity of playing in the big show makes things suddenly more difficult. Mike’s done his best with the situation and with Jack, but there’s a part of him that’s all too happy to jump in his car and drive to Washington when he gets called up. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loves Jack, and he doesn’t even mind being a dad at 23, but Allison’s tired all the time, and they keep on fighting about random tiny things that they never even thought about when they were dating. So Mike goes to Washington and moves in with Tom and it’s easy. 

;;

Mike, pretty much, feels like a great dad. He gets to see Jack once or twice a week, via Skype, and he coos and waves at him and wonders just how quickly he grows because every time Alli brings him on camera, he seems to have tripled in size. Mike and Alli do good, as it is; she looks tired but she doesn’t seem mad at him like she was when he was in her hair a lot more, and they can discuss things like adults without bickering. It’s nice.

;;

Mike’s just getting out of the shower when the doorbell rings. He’s got aches and pains from the Winter Classic, but just thinking about it brings a smile to his face - what a game. 

“Huh, Latts?” Tom calls. 

Mike raises an eyebrow to his reflection in the mirror before emerging from the bathroom with a towel around his hips. “Yeah?”

“It’s for you,” Tom says, excitement in his voice. 

Mike turns the corner to see a sudden mountain of shit in their doorway surrounding Allison, with Tom next to her, cooing at Jack. “Huh,” Mike says.

“Hey, Mike,” Allison says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, I really wish I didn’t have to drop him and run, but I have to get on a plane in like, an hour, and my parents are out of town.”

“Drop him?” Mike isn’t awake enough yet to fully process all the words coming out of Allison’s mouth at speed. “You’re leaving him? Here?”

“Please?” Allison begs. “Please, please, please? Only ‘til the weekend, I swear. I have this big pitch out in San Francisco. It’s a big deal. I had no other choice.”

“Yeah, but -“ Mike cuts himself off and waves his hand around between himself, Tom, the baby, and the apartment. “We’re not baby-proofed!”

“Mike, he can’t even sit up by himself yet,” Allison says, brushing her fingers over Jack’s head, still strapped into the baby bjorn on her front. “Just plonk him down somewhere and he’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

“Dude, it’ll be fun,” Tom says, elbow nudging Mike’s bare arm. Shit. He’s still naked. This is weird. And getting chilly with the door to the apartment still open.

Mike gives Tom a look. “Fun.”

“He’s cute! How much trouble can he be?” Tom holds his hands out towards Allison. “Can I take him?”

“Don’t drop my kid, Willy,” Mike says, watching Tom like a hawk as he unstraps Jack and lifts him up. He can’t help his hands twitching towards them when Tom gets into a tangle for a second, his heart jumping to his mouth, visions of Jack falling and cracking his head open on the wooden floor flashing through his mind.

“Relax, jeez,” Tom says, big hands carefully cradling Jack to his chest. He looks so tiny all of a sudden, now that he’s against Tom’s large frame instead of Allison. Mike forces himself not to reach out, but his hands twitch.

Allison is looking at them funny when Mike turns back to her, but she smiles at him when their eyes meet.

“You promise it’s just ‘til the weekend?”

“I get back late Saturday night,” she says with a nod. “I’ll come get him Sunday morning? I’ll get a room at hotel by the airport, then we can drive back to Hershey from here.”

“Okay,” Mike says, “come for breakfast. Where are your parents?”

“Winter cruise, the smug fucks,” Allison says, making a face. 

Mike sighs, and nods. There’s nothing much he can do now. “Fine. You should probably go if you have a flight to catch.”

Allison grins, leaning over all the stuff she brought with her to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best,” she says, and Tom makes a noise. Allison chuckles. “You too, Willy. I got you the portable crib, his favorite sleep stuff, enough food to last him the week, but you’re probably going to need to shop for diapers and wet wipes, stuff like that. The baby bjorn should fit you if you play around with the straps. You call me if you need anything, all right?”

“Yeah, will do.”

“Okay,” she seems to hesitate for a second, and then squares her shoulders. “Okay, bye baby, I love you,” she says, kissing the top of Jack’s head. “I’ll miss you lots.”

“I promise we’ll take good care of him,” Tom says, gentle, and Mike has to keep himself from throwing him a fond look. Allison steps back, looking reluctant. Mike motions for her to go.

She goes, and the door closes on her quietly - the sound is still deafening to Mike’s ears.

;;

Mike looks at Jack, lying down on the portable changing table that came along with the myriad of things a baby needs, apparently, and then turns his gaze to the diaper in his hands, making sure he’s got the technicalities right. He’s only done this a couple of times, months ago, and it seems that the technique is not like riding a bike, or maybe you just need to have some more experience for it to become muscle habit. 

The way it goes is like this: while Jack kicks his feet happily, naked as the day he was born on his changing table, he pees all over Mike’s shirt (and his face, and Mike’s lucky that his mouth was closed when that happened), while Mike attempts bravely to clean him up, and change him. Tom steps one foot into the bathroom as the scene unfolds, makes a gagging noise, and turns right back around, walking out without a single word, only a hand clamped over his mouth and nose. 

Mike wants to say that it’s not that bad, but he’s fighting nausea himself, and Jack is _disgusting_ , has completely soiled his onesie, and oh god, how does Allison does this every day. 

It takes him way too long because he has to stop a couple of times to take a deep breath through the window, and he can’t even use his shirt as a barrier because his shirt is drenched in pee. Mike feels disgusting and he contemplates just sticking both himself and Jack in the shower, but he’s pretty sure Allison’s instructions talk about a set bathtime (for structure) and Mike isn’t sure Jack wouldn’t drown under the shower head, so...he doesn’t do that. He gets Jack changed, and into a clean onesie, and then he throws his own shirt away and contemplates burning it off. Jack just gurgles on, nose making bubbles of snot against Mike’s shoulder before Mike has time to wipe it.

It’s going to be a long week. 

;;

“I...I kinda need a week off,” Mike says, and he hopes Coach doesn’t ask him why - it’s pretty fucking obvious since he’s got a baby bjorn strapped to his chest and Jack snoring against his collarbone. “His mom left him with me until the weekend, I don’t know anyone who can watch him while I’m practicing or playing. I know it’s short-notice,” he adds, apologetic. 

Coach leans over, smiling a little as he reaches out and runs the back of a knuckle against Jack’s face. “They’re so cute at that age. What is he, 6 months old?”

“Just under.”

“Didn’t know you had a kid,” Coach says a little gruffly. He doesn’t look angry, though, and it’s a fucking miracle that the team is healthy right now. Mike doesn’t want to compromise his roster spot but - priorities. He’s put hockey above Jack before, and definitely above Allison’s needs. It’s probably time he gives back some, even if it freaks him the fuck out. 

“Never came up.”

“Yeah, well, look at us now. I’ll talk to Brian, we’ll sort something out.”

;;

“So not only did you guys get engaged, you got a baby too?” Chimmer says when Mike walks into the room, Jack on his chest, Tom looming behind them both.

Mike groans when the rest of the guys all turn to look, a hand coming up protectively around Jack’s back. “We’re not engaged, guys. How many more times?”

“But you have a baby,” Wardo adds, eyebrows raised at Mike. “Did you steal him from someone? You know that’s illegal, Latts, you can’t just scoop babies off people’s arms and pretend it’s yours.”

“He’s _mine_ ,” Mike says, and he realizes he sounds almost vicious when Tom puts a hand on his shoulder blade. “Sorry. Look, I just - I’m sorry, it just never came up.”

He’s repeating the words he said to Coach earlier but he can’t help that it’s true. 

“Give me the baby,” Ovie suddenly orders from where he’s standing, so much taller than Mike, especially since he’s wearing his skates. He looks captainly, and intimidating, and Mike barely has time to undo the straps of the baby bjorn before Ovie is reaching for Jack. 

He holds Jack out for a moment, before pulling him to his chest, cradling Jack’s head ever-so-gently. Then Ovie says, with that smirk of his, “‘Tis Latts’. Same stupid nose.”

Like when Tom is holding him, Jack looks suddenly so tiny it’s startling to Mike - reminds him of when Jack was born. His hands itch, but he closes them into fists to keep himself from reaching out. 

“What’s his name?” Ovie asks.

“Jack.”

“Itty bitty Jack bear,” Tom adds, helpful as ever. The shit-eating grin on his face is ridiculous, and Mike maybe wants to kiss it a lot. Instead, he rolls his eyes.

Ovie nods. “Needs a jersey. With number 8, Ovechkin on the back.”

“No way,” Mike says at the same time as all the guys chime in with which name and number Jack should wear. Mike shakes his head at all of them.

“You’d let him wear my number though, right?” Tom says into Mike’s ear after a moment, voice soft, lips just barely brushing Mike’s skin.

Yeah. Mike probably would.

;;

“Why is he not sleeping?” Tom asks - no, _whines_ \- after an hour of Jack whimpering and crying. 

Mike has read and re-read Allison’s instructions, so he’s sitting up on the couch with Jack against his chest, soothing him as best he can. Poor little dude. 

“He can’t breathe when he’s lying down,” Mike replies, and Tom’s face goes from annoyed to slightly panicked. 

“What?”

Mike shrugs, trying to stay calm about it, because there’s no need to have the two of them stressing out about this when Allison said it was no big deal. “According to Alli, it’s common in babies. He just sleeps better when sitting upright.”

“We have a game tomorrow,” Tom says softly, coming to sit next to Mike. He’s warm along his side. Tom reaches out, grabbing one of Jack’s kicky feet lightly. 

“Sorry.”

Tom’s hand moves from Jack to slide up along Mike’s arm, fingertips brushing his forearm, the outside of his elbow, tucking in under the sleeve of his shirt. “No, don’t be. Hey, I’ve read that babies like skin on skin contact, you know.”

Mike twists to look at him. “Since when?”

“Since humans began? I don’t know, I’m not a doctor, Latts.”

“No, I mean, since when do you read about looking after babies?” Mike hasn’t seen Tom read a book ever, he doesn’t think. Not that he’s some great bookworm either, but still.

“I googled a bunch of shit when the itty bitty bear got dropped off,” Tom says, tugging at Mike’s shirt. “Come on; off.”

“You complain when I don’t wear one, and now you want me to take it off.”

“I only complain when you do it in public,” Tom replies, grinning. 

“Technically, we have an audience right now,” Mike replies, but he lets himself be manhandled a little, until he’s leaning against Tom’s chest, Jack fussing less and less against him. 

“You gonna sing to him?” Tom asks, barely above a whisper.

Soon enough, Mike is sandwiched between two snoring babies.

;;

“It’s pretty unbelievable that something this cute would come out of your loins,” Tom says as he twirls around the living-room with Jack in his arms, half-asleep. 

“Well, fuck you too, Tom,” Mike replies, still trying to build that mini-jungle gym thing that came with everything else. He has no idea how these pieces are supposed to fit together. 

“It’s a compliment though. He’s so adorable, but he’s also unmistakably yours, so good effort, I guess?”

“You need to work on your compliments delivery system, buddy,” Mike says, finally fitting two pieces together. “Ah-ah!”

“Can we keep him?”

Mike looks up at Tom, and his big bulky frame cradling Jack tenderly, hands looking soft and careful. Mike bites the inside of his lip for a beat. “That’s not how it works.”

“I mean, it’s your kid, Mike. You have rights.”

“I know,” Mike retorts, trying to ignore how badly his stomach is twisting. He doesn’t really want to think about it; even if he suddenly decided he was going to be more present than he has in the past 4 months, he has no idea how to work it out. And he hasn’t really had any time to _think_ about anything like this - he’s been running around all day since Allison dropped Jack off. Mainly, it’s been exhausting, and he’s not sure he should want more of it. 

But then, he thinks of Allison and how he’s just left her to fend for herself, putting his career ahead of his kid, and he feels - unbearably guilty, looking at Jack snoozing on Tom’s shoulder. His heart twists with a simple fact - he does want to see his kid grow up, and for him to know who his father is, more than just quick Skype calls. But Mike doesn’t need Tom needling him, so he repeats, his tone harsher than he expected, “I know.” 

Tom sighs, but doesn’t push it. Mike viciously slots two pieces of the jungle gym together. 

;;

“Latts!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mike hisses, rushing out of the bedroom where Jack has finally gone down for a nap in the travel cot they set up. “What the fuck, Tommy?”

“Shit, sorry,” Tom says, looking cowed as he closes the front door, thankfully not letting it slam shut this time. He’s got a two bags from Babies R Us in his arms and a wide grin on his face. “But you have to see what I got Itty Bitty Jack Bear.”

“Stop calling him that,” Mike says, but there’s no heat behind it. “What is it?”

Tom dumps the bags on the couch and roots through them with one hand while he takes his coat and scarf off with the other, letting them fall on the floor. “This,” he says proudly, holding up a fleecy-looking onesie, dark brown. When he pulls up the hood, it has ears on it.

“Oh, God,” Mike says, taking it from Tom and turning it over in his hands.

“Right? Cutest fucking thing I ever saw,” Tom’s saying, sounding so proud of himself.

“He already has about a million onesies, Tom.”

“So? He doesn’t have one that makes him an actual _bear_.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Mike says, fond.

“And you’re no fun.”

Mike snorts and gathers up the rest of the stuff Tom bought, talking over his shoulder as he goes to stash it in his bedroom. “Well, he’s sleeping now, so you’ll have to wait to play dress up.” He closes the closet door as gently as possible and leans over to check on Jack. He’s still snuffling around his pacifier peacefully.

“Can I feed him when he wakes up?” Tom asks quietly from the doorway. Mike looks up and nods.

“Sure. You’re really into this, aren’t you? You love having him around.”

Tom shrugs. “To be honest I thought it’d be harder.”

“He’s been here two days. Don’t cry victory just yet.”

;;

The thing about having Jack around is that, in three days, he takes over _everything_. Every surface of the apartment is covered with dirty onesies and cloths, the sink is full of bottles, the garbage overflowing with diapers. It’s a fucking _mess_ , and it’s driving Mike crazy. 

He would be able to deal with it - probably - if, well, Tom wasn’t adding his fucking mess on top of it. It’s like Tom’s started thinking that he can sneak his shit under Jack’s in the pile of dirty laundry and Mike will not notice. But Mike notices, he notices _so hard_ , and he wouldn’t even give a shit if he had the time. But he doesn’t, because despite being benched for the week, Mike still has to show up for practice and he still has to be present for games, like he was the night before, in the press box with Jack sleeping in the quiet room by the family box. 

And Tom’s not helping. Tom’s making it worse, and Mike’s stressed, and he’s not playing hockey when he should be playing hockey, and he loves Jack but by God, he wants to _sleep_. Possibly forever. 

He reaches boiling point when he actually catches Tom dropping his shit in the sink without even bothering to rinse any of it, whistling happily as he walks off, grinning at Mike on his way. 

Mike snaps. “No. Fuck no!” he says angrily, which stops Tom dead in his tracks, turning around. 

“What?”

As much as Mike wants to raise his voice, Jack is dozing in his crib, so Mike squares his shoulders but tries to keep his voice low and even. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Tom looks genuinely confused, which makes Mike even angrier. 

“Leaving your shit around and not helping out cleaning up! This place looks like it’s been hit by a tornado and you’re just making it worse! I’m not your fucking maid, Tom!”

“Leave it for the cleaners then,” Tom replies, voice low but tone hard; it’s so easy for him to get angry. “I’m not asking you to clean up after me.”

“No, but your leave your stuff with Jack’s all the time, and I can’t wait for the cleaners for his stuff! You’re a fucking slob, and if I let it just pile up you’d be wearing the same pair of boxers four days in a row, and we’d be eating with paper plates! Is it so fucking hard for you to do your own fucking laundry? I know you’re still a child, but come on!”

Tom takes a step back, like Mike dealt him a physical blow, but the hurt look on his face disappears as soon as it appeared, replaced by that fury that Mike is much more accustomed to, only not usually directed at him. “And you’re such a mature adult that’s so responsible and all that you fucked a girl you barely knew without a condom and got her pregnant, so bravo, well done, you’re definitely so much better than me, aren’t you?”

Mike feels like he’s just taken a punch to the gut, one that hurts a fuckton and leaves you wheezy. “Holy shit,” he breathes out, clenching a hand around the hem of his shirt. He opens his mouth, insults ready on the tip of his tongue, when Jack starts crying, low-pitched wailing noises. Mike closes his mouth, turning around to go and grab Jack, taking his car keys on the way. “I’m gonna go,” he says, ignoring how the anger has melted off of Tom’s face, replaced by what looks like regret already. 

“Latts, wait -”

Mike doesn’t look back. 

;;

Mike drives for a while; the city’s quiet enough that he can collect his thoughts without getting road rage, and thankfully, Jack tends to be soothed by car rides, so he settles quickly, slumped in his carseat in the back of Mike’s car as he drives them outside of the city itself. 

Now, he feels stupid. He feels like the words they’ve exchanged got twisted into something a lot uglier than the situation was, carried on by frustration and exhaustion. It was just a stupid fight about _dishes_ , for fuck sakes. Groaning to himself, Mike stops the car at a little overlook, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. 

He could get angry again, punch a tree or something, scream out his frustration, but he’s too tired and he feels so fucking idiotic for starting a fight over something so small. He’s not even fair - he’s forced the situation on Tom, didn’t really ask for his opinion and didn’t really stop to think how this would affect Tom, and Tom took it in stride, didn’t complain about it a single time. 

Mike knows that it’s just fucking venting to hide other shit, too - he hasn’t been able to stay on top of laundry and dishes and all that stuff, and it’s only been 3 days, does that mean he’s a failure as a father? 

He used to think he was a good dad, but. But when he faces it, he’s been a fucking coward about it; he’s been an absent father, at the very best, if not just a shitty one for thinking he’s good at parenting when, really, he was doing none of the work. He ran away to Washington and to be a hockey player as quickly as he could, and he didn’t even mention Jack to his teammates - what kind of dad does that, really. In the last few months, Mike’s spent more time cuddling with friends’ kids than his own, and he can’t help but think it’s fucked up. He’s fucked up. 

Turning around in his seat, he watches Jack sleep for a while, all peaceful, curled up on his side with his fist by his mouth, breathing even and soft. “I’m sorry I failed you, Bear,” Mike says softly, feeling so guilty it’s eating him up inside. Jack is healthy, and he’s a happy baby, but it’s not due to Mike, at all, and it should be. It should, and it _will be_ , Mike promises himself. “I swear I’m gonna be a better dad.”

Jack doesn’t wake up, which is not actually a bad thing. 

Mike turns back around, taking deep breaths and willing himself to go back home, apologize to Tom. It takes him a while to notice the other car parked at the overlook, even though it’s only a few feet away from his own SUV. He can see the moving shadows in the back of the car, hidden away by the cover of dark, and suddenly, Mike starts chuckling, sounding incongruous even to himself. He remembers being in this exact same position in the back of his own car with Tom, just a few weeks ago, high on winning a game and the season starting up again, getting to play hockey and be together. 

He can do both. He can do it all. He can be a better dad, and a hockey player, and a good person to Tom. At least, he can definitely try. 

;;

It takes Mike another couple of hours before he decides to make his way back home. Jack’s still completely passed out in the backseat, and doesn’t even stir when Mike lifts him out of the car and up to the apartment. It’s quiet when he walks in with Jack snuggled up close, and a few steps in, Mike stops, staring at the apartment laid out in front of him like he’s seeing it for the first time. 

It’s _spotless_. There is no trace of any dirty onesies or socks anywhere in the living-room, no spit-up on the couches, no dirty dishes on the coffee table. When Mike goes to check the kitchen, everything has been squared away, the sink gleaming in the moonlight coming from the window. The washing machine is humming its spin cycle in the corner, lights blinking in and out. 

There’s a pile of Jack’s clothes on top of the counter, all neatly folded with the bear onesie proudly on top of it, and Mike can’t help but smile, feeling stupidly warm inside at the unexpectedly sweet gesture. He runs a hand over the onesie, leaning his cheek down on the top of Jack’s head, still sleeping peacefully. 

Okay, time to man up and apologize. It’s not that Tom’s words didn’t hurt, but Mike’s the one who started it all, and Tom’s already sort of apologized just by cleaning up the whole apartment while Mike was out sulking. Mike takes a deep breath, walking to his room to put Jack down, but there’s no mistaking Tom’s form lying down on Mike’s bed, his breathing soft and rhythmic. 

Mike puts Jack down in his cot, brushing wispy hair off his forehead, before he himself climbs into bed, sitting with his back against the wall, right next to Tom. He drops his hand on the top of Tom’s head, carding his fingers through Tom’s dark hair, making him grunt softly as he wakes up. 

“Hey,” Mike whispers, still playing with Tom’s hair. Tom sighs, shifts, pushing his forehead against Mike’s hip. 

“Didn’t mean t’fall asleep. Was waiting for the washing machine to be done.”

“It’s okay, I’ll put the load in the dryer when it’s done.” 

“You still angry?”

“No,” Mike says, pausing for a beat, a strand of Tom’s hair between two fingers. “I’m sorry I got so angry, wasn’t fair on you. Then you went and cleaned up everything, I feel like a right dick now.” 

“Well, you are, but I love you anyway.”

It’s like being punched in the gut all over again, Tom’s words, sleep-coated and warm against Mike’s thigh. He sounds like he’s barely thinking about it, like it’s just a thought that he’s letting out, but he freezes against Mike anyway as he realizes what he just said. It’s a sudden, complete shift in their relationship they haven’t really discussed before, and it’s stupid to feel so ridiculous about it, because obviously Mike loves Tom right back, but he’s never said those words to anyone but his parents and Jack before. 

“I love you too,” Mike manages to say after yet another long pause, feeling Tom immediately relax against him, pushing even closer to Mike, face mashed against Mike’s thigh. He can feel Tom’s eyelashes against his skin. “Thank you for cleaning up after Jack. You didn’t have to.”

“I felt bad for saying what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“It was a fair point to make.” 

“Hey, no,” Tom says, and Mike looks down at him when Tom tugs on his shirt. Tom pulls a face, and Mike shifts around until he’s lying down next to Tom, head propped up on his hand. “Shit, it’s weird to be all mature and talking about feelings.”

“Yeah, we should make out instead.”

Tom grins. “Sounds like a plan,” he says, pulling Mike to him with another tug on his shirt. There’s a gentle kiss there, one that reflects their earlier declarations, but it’s buried under urgency and wandering hands, Tom’s grin and Mike’s groans. He pushes into Tom’s space, feeling like he hasn’t got to touch Tom in ages, even if it’s been barely days, if not just hours.

Mike wishes he could lose himself in the feel of Tom right here and solid against him, but there’s the constant tiny little thought at the back of his mind that Jack is right next to them, sleeping peacefully, and it’s just too weird. He pulls away reluctantly, licking his lips as he looks at Tom blink his eyes open slowly, all dazed and puffy lips, entirely too sinful. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Mike motions to the cot. “Jack.”

“It’s not like he’d remember,” Tom says, but there’s teasing in his voice; he’s not serious about it, and Mike grins. 

“I’m not fucking you while my son watches, Tom.”

“You’re no fun,” Tom replies with a grin, leaning in for another kiss before sitting up, rolling his shoulders and stretching, exposing a sliver of skin that Mike has to resist reaching out for. “I’ll get the washing in the dryer. You get some sleep.” 

Mike watches Tom walk out of the room, his stomach feeling all warm, spreading through his chest; he’s so used to fucking around and pretending feelings are not a real thing that it’s strange to allow them to seep in right now, to make him feel good and content with his lot. So now it’s out there that he’s got absolutely no chill about Tom, it’s nice to just enjoy the feeling. 

;;

In the morning, Jack spits up milk down Mike’s bare back, and Tom cleans him up without a second thought before handing Mike a mug of coffee and sticking his tongue out to Jack, who gives Tom a toothy grin in return. 

“I’m taking him today,” Tom says as Mike drinks his coffee, contemplating if he wants oatmeal this morning or if it’s just going to make him think he’s eating his kid’s spit-up. 

“Taking him where?”

Tom shrugs, staying close when Jack grabs his necklace, pulling at it. He holds out his hands, and Mike passes Jack to Tom easily, the two of them used to doing it now. “Not sure yet. We probably gonna go shopping. You need the break.”

“You’re acting like we don’t usually have the same schedules,” Mike protests, because he doesn’t want to feel like he’s _delicate_ or some shit like that. Yeah, he’s tired, but he’s also used to it, and he can deal with it. He’s the one doing the babysitting, he doesn’t need to be babysat himself. 

“Right now, we don’t, though. You’re up more than you’re sleeping at night, and during the day you’re running after Jack all the time. I’m still getting my 8 hours, and I’ve only got practice and game days. You fucking walked out to make sure I’d get to have a pre-game nap the other day, so, come on. Today’s the day you get to sleep in.” 

Mike allows himself a quick thought for Alli - he sure hopes she’s got someone to help her out like this in her life, because they’ve only had Jack full time for four days, and yet Mike feels ridiculously relieved to have Tom here, actually wanting to help. God, he had _no idea_ it would be this hard.

Mike contemplates protesting further, if only because Jack’s his responsibility and he really shouldn’t be foisting it on Tom, but Tom’s making faces at Jack, who’s giggling while pawing at Tom’s cheeks, and it’s so obviously fond Mike melts. “Okay. Thanks, man.”

Tom smiles at Mike, toothy and sweet. “It’s cool. We’re going to have the _most_ fun, aren’t we, Bear? Yeah we are.”

;;

“Shit, man, kids are exhausting,” Tom says that evening, when he burrows close to Mike on the couch after putting Jack down for the night. 

Mike grins, draping an arm around Tom’s shoulders and letting him spread the blanket Mike’s been buried under over the two of them instead. “Coulda told you that.”

Tom grunts, nose pressed against Mike’s collarbone. He’s heavy and warm, right against Mike’s skin; his hair smells of that shitty sandalwood shower gel he uses like it’s multipurpose, and he feels comfortable to Mike; he feels a little like home. Mike draws random shapes over Tom’s shoulder, resting his cheek on top of Tom’s head. 

“So. what did you do?”

“Took him to the park to bag myself an incredible amount of single moms’ phone numbers.”

“Were the numbers for you or for him, though?”

“I mean, I’m incredibly charming, even if I don’t have his dimples.”

“His biceps are better than yours.”

“Seriously though, I thought they were kidding on tv, but it actually is kind of amazing, the looks you get when you’re one guy walking around with a baby.” 

“Yup,” Mike agrees, because he’s seen it for himself, and has got a few people coming up to him in the park or in the grocery store already, cooing at Jack and asking him - subtly as jackhammers, hands on his arm usually - where the mother was. He never got annoyed enough to be offended about the assumption that dudes apparently can’t take care of babies. “Figures you’d use my kid to try and get laid.”

“Well, you’re not having sex with me,” Tom retorts, which makes Mike snort, his idling fingers on Tom’s shoulder turning into a caress, up to Tom’s neck; there’s enough intent behind it that Tom looks up. “Or maybe you are,” he says, his voice lower than usual. 

They shift even closer to each other on the couch, Mike’s hands framing Tom’s face when they kiss, unhurried and intimate. Mike thumbs Tom’s bottom lip when they pull apart, his eyes flicking between Tom’s mouth, shiny wet and inviting, and his eyes, hooded and intent. “You’re just going to have to be very,” Mike pauses for a kiss at the corner of Tom’s lips, “very quiet.”

;;

After 5 days, Mike is an _expert_ at changing diapers. He’s an efficient, one-handed master that can clean and talc up a baby butt in mere seconds, not bothered anymore by Jack trying to writhe away and crawl around the apartment naked. 

“I think he takes after you really,” Tom mentions once, when Jack has managed to wriggle out of his onesie two seconds after Mike put it on him, happily munching on his own fist in just his diaper. “Allergic to clothes.”

“This is my legacy,” Mike despairs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.He grabs Jack, who squirms for a minute before settling down against Mike’s chest. 

“Hey, at least you got one,” Tom says wistfully, brushing a knuckle against Jack’s head before taking a step back. He smiles then, and Mike almost says the stupid words that are sticking to the back of his throat, stuff like _hey, maybe one day we can use a surrogate and you’d have a legacy, too_. It’s like the biggest can of worms that Mike is not at all ready to pry open. 

Tom doesn’t seem to care that Mike is taking an age to answer; he plops himself down next to Mike on the couch, steals the remote, and puts on a rerun of _Say Yes To The Dress_ , looking entirely content with his lot. 

“You want to be a dad?” Mike asks eventually, feeling a bit stupid about it, the words thick against his tongue. Tom shrugs, moving himself around so that he’s more or less lying down on the couch, his head on Mike’s thigh. Jack kicks him in the nose, and Tom grins, grabbing Jack lightly and pretending to eat his toes, just to make Jack laugh, which, as usual, works a treat. When he lets go, Mike drops his free hand to Tom’s hair, carding his fingers through without even thinking it. 

“One day, yeah, sure. Not for a long time though.” 

“Alright,” Mike says, resting the pads of two fingers against Tom’s cheek. 

;;

Mike sits down with Allison when she’s back in town, ready to pick Jack up. She’s cradling Jack close, dropping kisses on the top of his head between bites of her breakfast omelette - Mike can’t cook much but he can do that, at least. 

Tom’s out for a morning run before practice - Mike’s also going to that, officially off baby duty. 

Allison keeps on darting Mike strange looks; he knows he looks nervous. “So, um,” he starts, pauses. 

“Yes?”

“I realize I - I believe I haven’t been the best dad. And, like, I haven’t been great to you either.”

Allison puts her fork down, looking at Mike with attention. 

“Alright,” she says, her tone soft. 

“And - I’d like to be? Better? I’d like to spend more time with Jack. I can come down whenever we get a couple of days. And I can pay for you to fly down whenever you can, you know, there’s no pressure, I’m not trying to take anything away from --”

Allison holds up a hand, dropping it on top of Mike’s, effectively stopping him dead in his tracks. “I’d like that, Mike. And I’m sure Jack would as well. It’d be great. We can work out details later.”

Mike lets out a breath, turning his hand over to be able to squeeze Allison’s fingers with his own. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I’d fight you on this,” she says softly, and Mike shakes his head. 

“No, it wasn’t - that. It’s just. I’ve been shitty before so you’d be well within your rights to tell me I don’t deserve it.”

“Well, one, you also have rights, and two, how could you ever earn it if you don’t get the chance to be his dad?” 

Mike just nods. He’s extremely thankful for Allison; he knows just how petty she can be because he’s fought with her in the past, but she’s also kind, and generous, and oh so patient when it comes to dealing with him. Neither of them are perfect, but they can try to be the best parents they can be. 

“What does Tom think of this?” she asks faux-nonchalantly, piling more eggs and cheese in her mouth. He absolutely doesn’t buy her act, but he smiles anyway, looking down at Jack, sucking on his pacifier with all of his strength. 

“Tom loves Bear. He’s a giant softie.”

“Bear?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Mike exclaims, standing up and going to the pile of Jack’s clothes that still have to go in a bag, fresh out of the dryer. “Tom got him this,” he says, pulling out the bear onesie. 

Allison makes a cooing noise. “Bless.”

“Tom got it for him, because he was born when I was in Hershey. The nickname stuck. But yeah, he’s enjoyed taking care of Jack with me. It’s - brought us closer.” 

“Nice,” Allison says, grinning knowingly. Mike rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, shut up.”

“Language! There’s a child present,” Allison mocks, putting her hands over Jack’s ears. Mike laughs, refraining from saying that Jack heard much worse in the past week. “Alright, I should go. I’ll call you tonight, and we can discuss plans for you to have him next, yeah?”

Mike nods eagerly, moving closer to get one last cuddle in before Jack has to leave. “Sounds great.”

;;

The apartment feels empty without Jack, and Mike misses him like he would a missing limb; sometimes it’s like a phantom weight on his chest. Even Tom sulks around, making random lost puppy noises, until Mike distracts them both by getting Tom to ride him hard on the couch.

Neither of them stay quiet, this time.

;; 

Allison flies in two weeks later and leave them be, goes to look at museums during the day and joins them for dinner. The next time the team has two days off in a row, Mike flies up to Hershey, stays in Allison’s spare bedroom and meets her boyfriend, Luke. When Jack starts speaking, he calls them both ‘dada’, and Mike’s not even mad about it. 

Mike and Tom’s apartment slowly but surely fills up with Jack’s things; Andre’s room becomes Jack’s after Andre moves out (he helps out with the furniture), and there are constantly new tiny shirts and tiny pairs of jeans added to Mike and Tom’s laundry. It’s practically impossible to walk anywhere in the apartment without kicking a stuffed toy or stepping on a building block, and the place becomes a home to Jack, just as much as Allison’s house is. There are pictures on the walls that are not just hockey related but also Jack related; that time he and Mike went to play in the snow, a family picture from Jack’s first Christmas, a shot of Tom and Jack sleeping on the couch.

Mike can’t even remember a time where these pictures weren’t there, a time where he wouldn’t have Jack’s favorite blanket draped over the back of the couch, a time where there wasn’t a toy chest overflowing by the window. 

He can’t remember a time where Jack didn’t fit right in, didn’t belong. 

;;

Mike and Tom get Jack his first pair of skates for his third birthday. When time comes for the holiday skate at the Verizon Center, Jack barely wobbles anymore, and he wears a jersey with ‘Latta’ on the back, but no 46 - Jack wears a number 8. 

His beanie hat has tiny little bear ears. 

;;

THE END


End file.
